


This Symphony of Silence (May It Play Out Before Our Eyes)

by SilverRose42



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Anger, Canon, F/M, Follow POTO, Gen, Look! I Phantom ficced, Love Triangles, Mentions of LND, Reyer is so done with Erik, Reyer's health issues, Reyer's perspective, so so done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:37:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRose42/pseuds/SilverRose42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monsieur Reyer is, of course the Maestro of the Paris Opera, so it makes sense that he knows it's Phantom. That doesn't, of course, mean that the story changes.</p><p>
  <em>The Opera Ghost had given him hives (many thing gave him hives, really), but the man (ghost, monster? No, not monster, he didn't think. He still wasn't certain) had certainly changed everything.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Symphony of Silence (May It Play Out Before Our Eyes)

M. Matthieu Reyer was at the auction in 1905, of course he was. He had never worked another job as fantastic as the one at l'Opera Garnier, and he knew it, of course he did. The Opera Ghost had given him hives (many thing gave him hives, really), but the man (ghost, monster? No, not monster, he didn't think. He still wasn't certain) had certainly changed everything. And he had been a brilliant musician (especially as the ghost really did make an appearance that night during Don Juan. Matthieu wasn't an idiot; he recognised that voice).

He had like Mlle. Daaé, truly. She had a lovely voice, even if she did seem a bit out of it. But Matthieu could see her being torn each direction, and as the Opera's Maestro, he knew just how frayed her nerves had been at the end.

He watched as Mme. Giry strode in, still strong as ever, and dressed in the black of mourning. He eyed the Vicomte as he was wheeled in, now older, and apparently decrepit. He turned his attention back to the auction in time to watch the skulls and pistols be auctioned off, and proceeded to eye the bidding war for the monkey with some trepidation.

Lot 666. Whoever had decided to give it that particular number must have suspected something. And the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera. Matthieu felt himself snort softly. A strange affair indeed. He frowned as they lifted the chandelier, and allowed the memories of the whole debacle come floating back. 

~*~

“Mademoiselle, by all means, you are not required to perform this evening.” Matthieu hesitated. “If we have to cancel, the we cancel. But I do not wish to force you into this...”

Christine smiled gently in the direction of the musical director. “I will be fine Monsieur. I know the part, you know that.”

Ah yes. How could he have forgotten her voice lesson from the supposed 'Angel of Music.' “I know my dear girl, I know. I simply want to make certain that you do not feel trapped.”

Christine bestowed that smile on him again. “Merci, monsieur. But it will be fine, I assure.” She turned, and hurried off at the sound of wardrobe calling her.

Matthieu sighed again. That girl would be the downfall of so many, he was sure. He glance up towards the rafters. “I know you're there, Monsieur OG. And I have an idea of what you're planning for our new managers. But if your intent is to woo that young lady, be careful. I feel that after tonight her suitors shall come flooding in.”

The shadows shifted slightly, and Matthieu caught a glimpse of a white half mask. “I thank you for your advice, monsieur Reyer. I shall endeavour to follow it.” And then he's gone. Matthieu sighed. That man would be the death of him, he was sure.

~*~

Mlle. Daaé went missing after the performance, of course. Right after a potential suitor came knocking on her door, asking to take her for dinner. Sadly, Matthieu had an idea of exactly where he went.

When she arrived in the music room for rehearsals the next day (the ghost had really helped her voice; Matthieu liked to work with her as they were two of a mere handful of people who actually lived in the Opera House. Besides, he had a feeling she would be taking the spotlight this evening, no matter what the managers claimed), she was silent as a tomb, and Matthieu thought he knew why.

“Mademoiselle?”

Christine looked up, a certain pain in her eyes. “Je apologise, Monsieur Reyer. I'm afraid my mind is simply elsewhere today.”

Matthieu hesitated. “Does this have anything to do with where you vanished to last night?”

And with that, Christine began to weep. “He took me to his home, monsieur! He took me there, and I betrayed his trust!”

Matthieu's sudden realisation had nothing on his sudden lapful of soprano. “You took off his mask,” he whispered softly. “And his face scared you.”

Christine sniffled. “Non, monsieur, not his face. His anger. And we were supposed to have lessons earlier, but he never came. And he made me come back up here, without me explaining why I was frightened. I don't think I'll ever see him again.”

Matthieu sighed. “Mademoiselle, you know he is the ghost?” Christine nodded into his shoulder, and he sighed again. “Rehearsals are cancelled for today,” he said finally. Christine let out a pained noise. “I will speak with Monsieur OG, and by the end of the day, I will have done my best to sort this out. I promise.”

Christine sniffled again, and whispered, “Merci, monsieur.”

Matthieu smiled gently. “Of course, mademoiselle.”

~*~

“Monsieur OG!”

The Phantom startled suddenly, whirling to face Matthieu in shock. “Monsieur Reyer,” the man finally said. “Pray tell, how did you find your way here?”

“Through Box 5,” Matthieu said firmly. “As for the rest of this labyrinth, very carefully.”

The Phantom regarded him for a long moment before turning away. “Why are you here?”

“To talk about Mlle. Daaé.”

Matthieu suddenly found himself face to face with an enraged Opera Ghost, but he refused to allow himself to panic (outwardly, of course. Enraged Opera Ghosts did nothing good for his weak ankles and chronic eye twitch). “You love her, don't you,” the masked man snarled. “You wish to keep her for yourself!”

Matthieu eyed the man with a certain contempt. “Love will make a fool of you if you're not careful, monsieur OG. I love her as a daughter, no more, no less.”

The Phantom backed down, slowly, but surely, taking Matthieu's words to heart. “Then why are you here, if not to deliver bad news? I told you where I lived, as I thought I could trust you. If I find my trust has been misplaced...” The threat at the end was obvious, at the Maestro swallowed nervously.

“She's worried about you,” he said finally, even as the Phantom's eye's narrowed. “Apparently you missed her morning lesson, and she thinks she's scared you away for good. That you don't wish to speak with her.”

The ghost turned away. “It is she who does not wish to speak to me,” he said softly. “She has seen my face. She knows now I am a monster. She is frightened of me.”

“Of your anger, certainly,” Matthieu allowed. “But she claims she is not scared by your appearance.”

The Phantom glanced back. “My anger?” The confusion lacing his tone was obvious, yet there was hope in his voice.

“Well, you do have quite the temper.” When the opera's resident ghost said nothing, Matthieu sighed. “Speak to her, please, monsieur. Perhaps you will find that there is something you have missed.”

“After the performance,” the Phantom allowed. “I will speak to her after the performance.”

“You know she is playing the pageboy.”

“And very soon she shall be playing the Countess.”

Matthieu sighed. “Monsieur OG, you really do nothing to help my nerves.”

~*~

The performance was a disaster. First the Phantom made La Carlotta croak. Then he killed Buquet. Not a large problem, of course, not in Matthieu's mind. Carlotta couldn't sing to begin with, and the stagehand had been leering after the Ballet rats for years, and Matthieu knew for a fact that Mme. Giry had lost dancers due to the man. Even he had lost good musicians because the man had raped them.

But then had come the chandelier. Oh, was Matthieu ready to kill the Opera Ghost (not that he would, of course. Truly, murder was bad for his chronic headaches). He managed to sneak down to the cellars of the Opera House, finding the Phantom there, scribbling away at what looked like sheet music.

“Why did you do that?”

“Buquet deserved to die, and you know it.”

Matthieu's nostrils flared. “Not Buquet! The chandelier! Why did you crash the Chandelier!”

“She ran away from me.”

Matthieu froze. While he was sure the Vicomte didn't know about it, Christine had told him of her engagement. She had also told him that she was having second thoughts, that it had been spure of the moment. “She left you, so you crashed a chandelier?”

The Phantom turned, and snarled “She broke my heart! Distorted, deformed, she called me! She knew I could hear her, and she said things like that anyway!”

“Well, you had just killed a man,” Matthieu pointed out reasonably. “She was probably scared. Seeing people die will do that to you.”

The Phantom snarled again, but sat back down, and banged his head on the organ, creating a discomfortingly awful cord. “I lost her. I lost her because a man saw me, and in defence of both myself and others, I killed him. And then, knowing I was there, she hurt me, and I stopped thinking.” He looked up at Matthieu. “I'm sorry I crashed the chandelier,” and the poor Maestro could see he meant it.

“I know,” he said softly, pulling the younger man close to offer comfort. “I know.”

~*~

Matthieu nearly fainted at the Phantom's entrance during the Masquerade Ball. Most of the orchestra looked pained as well. When the ghost announced that they would be performing an opera he himself had written, Matthieu nearly groaned. When M. Firmin handed him the libretto, and he began to look through it, he did groan.

When the managers decided to make a plot with the Vicomte to trap the ghost, Matthieu left for the rehearsal room, Mlle. Daaé following close behind.

Upon their arrival, the soprano crossed her arms, and nearly screamed “I refuse to sing the part. If I don't sing, he won't come, and then he won't get caught.”

“You love him,” Matthieu sighed. “I figured as much.” The shadows moved slightly, and he finally snapped out in exasperation, “Monsieur OG get out here, please.”

The Phantom emerged from the shadows quietly, and Christine eyed him angrily. “And while I may be enamoured with you, I certainly don't wish to speak with you.”

The Phantom looked hurt, but before he could speak, Matthieu interrupted. “Mlle. Daaé, please. It's obvious that you both need to sort some things out.” He turned and glared at the Phantom. “You are not to disappear until this has been sorted out.”

He payed attention long enough to hear Christine's accusation of “You betrayed me in the graveyard!”

To which the Phantom retorted “You betrayed me on the roof!”

Matthieu gave another sigh, and began to read through the rather bulky musical score.

~*~

Several hours later, a conclusion had been reached that both parties were at fault, and apologies had been given. Matthieu finally took his nose out of the score, and turned to Christine. “Are you going to sing?” This led to another argument, that the Phantom eventually won on the basis that he would not be in attendance, which Matthieu thought to be cruel.

“You could sit in the pit,” he offered finally. Christine scowled at him, but Erik's face lit up.

“Thank you, my good man!”

Christine rolled her eyes.

~*~

The fact that the Phantom was onstage should not have surprised Matthieu as much as it did. He was, however surprised that no one else seemed to realise that the man was not Piangi. When he saw Christine unmask the man however, he groaned. This would not end well. It never did.

Sure enough, he watched the man drop down through a trap door, Christine dropping with him. He figured he may as well try and head off the police.

He didn't even notice the Vicomte leaving with Mme. Giry. If he had, he might have stopped them.

~*~

Matthieu still wasn't quite clear as to what had happened down in the cellars. When they arrived, there was no sign of the Vicomte, Christine, or the Phantom.

As months passed, Christine became the Vicomtess, and wrote him a very lovely letter, explaining some of what had happened, and how the Phantom had sent her away. She also informed him of her pregnancy, and the son she now had. Matthieu was happy for her, truly.

The Phantom was less than communicative, and all Matthieu ever received from him was a note, lined in black, thanking him for all he had done, along with 20,000 francs.

Christine's death hit him hard (she was shot, in America of all places!), but he didn't pry to much, didn't ask questions of the Vicomte when he returned to Paris without his wife and child.

He saw Mme. Giry once in passing, but she ignored him, moving further away from him, into the crowd. (He later learned that it was little Meg Giry who had shot Christine. He understood why Mme. Giry hadn't acknowledged him.)

He didn't think of the Phantom at all.

~*~  
M. Matthieu Reyer quietly returned home after the auction. He didn't remember much of it, of course, to caught up in his own memories of the place (the chandelier, god. Why was that still around?). His eyes fell to his dining table, where a note, lined in black sat, red seal still in place (it wasn't the Phantom's seal though, not the head of death).

The spindly handwriting was achingly familiar; another memory from days long gone.

The note itself was rather short, but Matthieu found himself shocked anyway.

_Monsieur Reyer ~_   
_While I understand if you have no wish to see me again, I do hope that this note finds itself in your healthy hands. Since our departure, I have become the owner of Phantasma, on Coney Island, and I am now find myself in need of a musical director. I hope you feel that you would be suited for the role?_   
_~ M. Erik Destler_   
_O.G._

Matthieu felt a smile creep upon his face. Perhaps America would be good for his health. After all, his health issues hadn't been active for ten years.

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the stage version of POTO, and when LND is referenced, please understand that I mean the Australian version.
> 
> Reviews are, as always, a welcome sight, as is constructive criticism.
> 
> Flames will be used to fuel the heat of Erik's eyes.
> 
> ~ Silver Rose


End file.
